


Evanescent

by Vetted_Silhouette



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Fear, Fear of Death, Fire, Mortality, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:34:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25512163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vetted_Silhouette/pseuds/Vetted_Silhouette
Summary: Day 25 of 31 Days of Apex. Word prompt: Fear.In the dark of the night, who knows your fears better than yourself? It's even harder when it's your subconscious mind working against you. Even when his eyes are synthetic, Revenant's will still play tricks on him.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22





	Evanescent

He hated the quiet.

Night had set in on the Legends compound, and while most of them were asleep, it was impossible for him. Sure, he used to be able to do it, but did he really sleep? Or was it the programming that had made him think he could lie there and dream? God, he hadn’t dreamed in centuries. Revenant just laid there, tangled in torn sheets, just staring up at the ceiling. It was pitch in his room, save for the soft glow of yellow optics. He blinked a few times, trying to take some deep breaths. Unnecessary, but habitual. Some things you just couldn’t shake, no matter how long it had been since you craved them. The silence was intense, almost violent, somehow so much worse than the screams that had played on loop in the back of his head. Idly, he reached up for the ceiling, reaching out for nothing in the blackness. He could see his hand in the darkness; Simulacra always had good night vision. But this…

He could have sworn he could see particles of his hand starting to flake off, like old paint, and just vanish into the aether. Yanking it back down, he inspected the metal, trying to see if he was flaking or chipping. No, it was nothing more than the usual wear and tear that a sanguinary assassin gained over the centuries of hunting down and slaughtering. He laughed darkly at that, a grating sound. Hauling himself up, he sat on the edge of his bed, head buried in his hands. He had left his scarf and cowl on the bedside dresser, so he ran his hands alongside his naked skull, almost missing the feeling of hair and shaved stubble. He sat there for a while, just in the quiet, willing himself to do as he saw and just  _ dissipate. _ But alas, he knew he had no such luck. Dragging his fingers over his eyes, he sighed and stood. He paced a lot during the midnight hours, restless energy overtaking his limbs and setting his mind spinning like an overworked water wheel. 

He made the few circuits around the room, then eventually, stopped in front of the mirror that sat in the corner. The polished surface was unmarred, pristine in its finish. He slumped down in front of it, trying to will himself to look into it and stare at the abomination that looked back at him. He had purposely avoided mirrors since that day; since the day his programming had failed him and had finally reflected back the visage of the monster that he had become. No longer did soft blonde and deep blue reflect back, but hard steel and piercing yellow. He wore a stranger’s face now, and it hurt to look. This mirror had come with the room, and he had moved it off to a corner, where it could easily be ignored if he chose. Raising his head, Revenant narrowed his eyes at the creature looking back at him.

The  _ growl _ that rose in the back of his throat, full of spitting venom and incendiary hatred. He wore the cloak of anger so well, it hid the cowering man that shrank from the shadows that threatened to swallow him whole. He lacked a heart, but he swore he could feel it beating a cadence, trapped like a bird in the hollow steel cage of his chest. His fingers became talons that dug deep tracks into the wood of the dresser, soft curls forming underneath the assault and dropping to the floor. The tremors that climbed his limbs shook him like an earthquake, and he threw his head back in one furious wail of anguish and despair. Looking back into the mirror, his wail changed then, from anguish to something almost akin to terror. 

His face was there, clear to his own eyes, but it felt  _ wrong _ . Something was wrong with his eyes, glowing back in the dark surface with the intensity of stopped stars. He could see parts of his face, fuzzy like it was covered in static. Like his hand before, it was starting to flake off and scatter like tainted snowflakes, covering the dresser and floor with white and red dust. It was getting worse the longer he looked at it, the disintegration moving on to take and scatter his left eye with it, the glowing yellow mixing on the floor like ground up stardust. He was screaming now, full voiced shrieks of terror as he clawed at his face, trying to convince himself he was still whole, still intact. He had wanted to die, but he didn’t want this! He didn’t want to watch himself go to ground, lost to the winds of time as the very dust he shed choked him silent for absolute good. Warnings flashed behind his eyes, bright blinking messages in red and yellow:  _ data corruption. System overheating. Emergency coolant systems activated..  _ Before he realized what he was doing, his hand curled into a fist and smashed forward, cracking the mirror full of spiderwebs in his panic. Revenant hadn’t felt this kind of intense fear since his drowning “death,” and the pure overload of irrationality flooded his senses and left him defenseless against it. It was absolutely pathetic. The world’s deadliest killer, infamous for his brutality and bloodlust in the Ring, now left a screaming wreck on the floor, trapped as a prisoner of his own mind. 

The cracked glass splintered and fell to the ground in a sort of sweet tinkling melody, a soft counterpoint to the voice he was wearing raw. Light, he needed light! In the light, he could see, could  _ prove _ to himself that nothing was wrong, that he was fine. Scrambling around in the drawers, his hands closed on the box of matches that were tucked away. He had some random candles scattered across the room, but now, he didn’t care what was lit, as long as it was. Striking a match, he tossed it idly at one of the curtains, watching it catch on the dry cotton fabric and start to light the room with its soft incandescence. He stood there, watching with a silence as still as the grave, a silence as still as the missing heart in his chest. Watching as the flames started to grow, to climb across fabrics and wood. The smoke detector mocked him with its shrill screams as the flames grew higher, eventually starting to lick up his own limbs. Metal didn’t catch, but the wraps at his ankles certainly did. The warmth was intense, but not enough to actually really damage the treated steel of his chassis. Closing his eyes and tilting his head back, he sighed into the blaze, resigning himself to the heat. Here, in the snapping of flame and the panicked yells of the other Legends startled awake by the blaze, he could hear himself. 

Finally. 

Opening his eyes again, he could see those goddamned flakes again, swirling up with the embers that danced in the air. His own paint, curling and scorching. All he could do there was stand and laugh. Laugh and laugh as the fire spread and ate at anything it could devour. He eventually was able to open his jaw as the wires loosened under the heat, and he belched fire like a dragon, his laughter going from an almost resignation to a sort of mad joy as the heat stripped him down, baring him to nothing but cracking steel and fraying wires. 

There was pounding on his door, raised panicked voices trying to call for him, but it was useless. He consigned himself to the blaze, satisfied with the knowledge that even as his fear ate him whole, he could still wreak the same fear in others. No one was ever safe. 


End file.
